


Proxy

by magikfanfic



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Blow Job, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-06
Updated: 2009-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magikfanfic/pseuds/magikfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set after the end of the series, which I haven't read. Neville is the one that Draco uses to replace the one he cannot have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proxy

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another LJ drabble written at the behest of a friend.

This is not what he wants it to be. It's not who it should be, the flesh in his mouth, the hot skin he licks at with his tongue and sucks at, the moans that his ministrations elicit. None of it is coming from who it should be, but he cannot have the one he wants. That one is far away; they are separated by more than just distance and time and houses. They are separated by a gulf of expectations and responsibilities as much now as they ever were when they were two children with eager eyes and perhaps entirely more angst than was entirely necessary but such is the currency of youth.

So, no, the man in his mouth, the man whose thighs he runs his nails down even as he pulls with his lips, drinking in the moans as deeply as the taste of intimate skin, is not the one he wants, not who he pretends is standing there. Perhaps this is as close as he can get to what he wants. Because this man, the feel of him, the very knowledge of him, brings back the memories of that boy, that man that he does want.

Sex by proxy. Sucking one man's prick in order to feel closer to another. Other people might see it as a futile, foolish exercise, but Draco is Slytherin. He learned a long time ago that you do what you have to do in order to get what you want. You lie, you manipulate, whatever it takes. This practice smacks of both of those and more.

He says, "Neville." Repeats the name like a chant, so fast sometimes that it blurs together into something that is more a sound than human speech, more a moan of want and desire. He says, "Neville," he lounges in that word, lets himself slip into it the way he falls into this embrace each time he sees the awkward child turned not-so-awkward man, though Neville will never have the grace and the sheer attractiveness of some, there is something in him that is pleasant and calming, something that convinces Draco he was not always so far on the other side of right for so long.

In turn, Neville threads his hands into his hair, turning the pale locks into a snarl, like something a child might do when left to their own devices, running in the wind and tearing through trees and bushes. Draco always has to spend too much time combing it out, putting each and every strand back into its careful, precise place, which Neville always watches him do, that easy smile still on his cherubic face, worry rimming the edges of his eyes because even though Draco is no longer Malfoy the brat, there is the question of whether or not there should be association, especially association that involves mouths and pricks and the exchange of an assortment of bodily fluids.

In return, Draco simply says, "Stop sniveling, Longbottom," though there is a smile on his face the entire time to let Neville know his teasing is the familiar banter of almost, maybe, one day friends instead of the berating quips that used to fall from his lips each and every day of his adolescence that was spent within these same walls. How quickly and strangely the tide doth turn.

When it's over, with the essence of Neville still trickling down his throat more a stream than the ocean, Draco always strokes his hands along the other man's thighs, pausing for a moment to study the skin under his hands, forming a mental picture, lying to himself that when he looks up he will see a different face, a face with more definition and glasses. A scar across the forehead hidden by hair but undeniably there. When he looks up finally, forcing himself to break the delusion, to face his own reality, it is always Neville. Neville always smiles. That makes the breaking pane of his glass dream something that he can withstand.


End file.
